Day 1.

After many delays in leaving Frankfurt I finally arrive in Delhi—3 hours late. The tour company I’ve hired for the next few days is there to greet me and I am instantly relieved. During the ½ hour drive to my hotel I wonder what Delhi looks like by day. My driver for the next few days, Herr, speak passable English.

I reluctantly agree to meet him at 11am. I am so tired and my body has no idea what time it is. We wake up the hotel staff and I am shown to my room and eventually I fall asleep. I awake often-new noises, new smells and the ever present sickness that started in TO. At 10am I feel basically rested and ready to start my day. The room is chilly (I kept adding layers of clothes during the night) and I find no hot water to help warm me up. A quick Indian shower (cup in a bucket of water), some warm dry toast and I’m on my way.

My driver is on time and away we go. I have yet to get some rupees so Heer loans me 5000 until I can get to a money exchange. The ride from Delhi to Jaiphur is amazing. I remember now and then to take pictures. I’m so busy watching the sites and asking questions I keep forgetting to use the camera. Every few feet is another road side restaurant—a building of some description with plastic lawn chairs and make shift tables. There always seems to be a bathing area – picture a cement wall 4 feet high and maybe 8X8. You don’t get in the water, you undress, stand beside the ‘pool’ and pour the water over you.[Yep, naked men ;)] I assume that like in Canada the number of vehicles in the parking lot is in direct correlation to the taste of the food. Herr won’t let me eat at any of these places “too hot (spicy) for you.” I don’t argue—there will be lots of time in Pondi for food experimentation. I am allowed to eat lunch at a resort ½ way to Jaiphur. I am the only person there…not a great sign, but here I am six hours later and still standing. I had mutton curry with rice. Herr and I drive on to Jaiphur and I mention that I would not want to drive in India. It doesn’t matter where you drive, how fast or any of the other ‘rules’ of the road that I am used to. He laughs and tells me there are only 3 things you need to drive in India: 1) a good horn, 2) good brakes, 3) good luck! Now I’m the one laughing.

Today is really meant just for driving (it will take about 6 hours to cover 250ish km), the tour guide will meet us in the am. We stop to see a shop where they make clay pots, Herr gives him 20 rupees for showing us around and we are on our way. I get to see the outside of the Forst that I will tour tomorrow, I snap a few shots and off we go. A few minutes later, a quick negotiation from Herr and I am sitting on the back of a camel. I have no idea how many rupees it cost, but I mentally add it to Herrs tip. The camel and the fellow leading it are retired racers. A quick photo op of me on the camel and we saunter down the road. It is very much like being on a horse, stirrups and all.

At this point I’ve barely broken the 12 hour mark for time in India—but the long awaited moment is here and I am sari shopping. Girls, if you want to be treated like royalty, go sari shopping in India.

Shopping in India is a big scam which I will explain later…allow me to enjoy this shopping experience before I jade you. First a demo on how they do block printing on material. The demo is made to have you understand the quality and time that goes into the work—and dazzle you a bit. Then I am shown how they cut and polish gemstones. And we haven’t even gone inside yet.

The first room I’m shown is full of blankets and quilts. Perfect for Canadian winters I’m told. I smile. I allow the demo of how small they pack and finally we move on. Upstairs is the sari room. Boxes and boxes of material stacked floor to ceiling with a low bench on each side of the room. I am asked to sit please and am offered a beverage. I say no. Which wasn’t the right answer. The show begins.

My host/salesman explains what a sari is—6 meters of fabric draped beautifully on a womans body and can be worn in many, many, many different ways with or without a blouse. The saris they show me have extra fabric at the end with which you can make a blouse. They start with showing me the cheaper fabrics and lay them out in front of me. I am to look, feel and then ask to either see more colour or go to the next price point. We start at 700 rupees and head to 22,500. (1000 rupees = $25 Canadian)

At this point Herr suggests a beverage—my earlier mistake is forgiven as I order a bottle of coke. The drinks are free—but you pay for them in the end. Now that we are all sipping beverages we can get down to business. I discard the amazing 22,500 sari and look at a few on the higher end…[yes, I know I live in Nunavut and will I ever really get to wear a sari???] but…I’m in India sari shopping and I want a nice one. I have the host, 2 helpers and my driver at hand helping in the process. The helpers pull saris off shelves and out of boxes laying them at my feet. I ponder and my host suggests I try one on. I stand and the helper drapes me in silk. I’m in love. I’m no petite India woman, but I instantly feel very feminine. He drapes it in different ways and the host gives suggestions on other things to do with a sari—make pants, curtains, bedspread, etc. Who’s he kidding, I’m already shoe shopping in my head. Now that I am dressed like a princess it is down to business. I settle on three. One that will be showcased at the Gala in May, one for whenever—you know an everyday sari and a gift for Al.

Herr ensures they can make an underskirt for me—they come in a standard size but I’m not standard. I’m just worried that there won’t be enough material at the end of the sari to make the kurti (blouse). They measure and talk and ensure me…it will all be very good madam.

The India women dress in such rich vibrant colours, mixing and matching yellow, orange, blue, purples, greens..ah. They certainly stand out in a crowd. I’m envious of their colour selections as I am not able to make such bold colour choices. [I could…but I’m not really a colour person] Sari purchase over I am brought into the next display room—jewelery. Everything you could want and more—don’t have what you like, they can custom make something.

With my new sari in mind I check out some sapphires but don’t see two alike in the darker blue and decline. They try VERY hard to convince me to take something. I stay firm with my no. I assume we are on our way out then…NOPE. The net room is material for making what I was told is a Punjabi dress. The long shirt, pants and scarf. [I have been told other names since, but for me it will always be the Punjabi dress.] The material comes in sets one piece for the shirt, one for the pants and the scarf. The pants cone in wide leg or narrow. It is the kind of thing I think I will wear at the build site and throw caution to the wind and get measured for one. The host tries to get me to buy more fabric or order more—cheap he says—but I’m tired, getting cranky and want sleep so I say no. And then on to the mens wear room, wearily I say no, no men to shop for and head for the stairs. And then hit upon the scarf and Pashmina room. AAUUGGHH. I just want to scream. I plead exhaustion and jet lag both of which are true and he concedes only when I finally say…tomorrow, when I come to pick up I look around more. Herr pushes the point and we are off to the FINAL showroom where there are handicrafts. A firm, very firm NO from me and the bill is written up—it is more than I had thought I’d pay for saris, but I am getting 3 items made to fit me which will be ready by tomorrow if madam is ok with that and I’m too tired to do the conversion properly so I pay. What the real plan is that Herr will stop by on his own while I am at the Fort and pick up the stuff for me.

Supper was at a tourist stop, the food was good and they had some mildly entertaining Rajasthani dancers—a few guys playing drums and two girls swirl and twirl almost like belly dancers. Finally we arrive at the hotel. I have high hopes from the pics I saw on the internet. The outside is very similar my room is not. It’s fine, but it’s tiny and damp and the washroom is as big as the bedroom—but there is hot water so I’m a happy camper. Chicken and I settle in for the night and we both fall asleep quickly. I’d like to say I slept through…but my TO issues continue to plague me. At least it is confined to early am and late at night so as not to spoil my days.